


And Slowly, We Start To Wake Up

by LuxRoyalty (slytherinsdaughter)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A Lot of Creepy Things Are Done But They Don't Have Tags, Add more angst, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Captivity, Dissociation, Healing, Heavy Angst, Imagine as much angst as you can. That's not enough angst, Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Running Away, Sexual Assault, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinsdaughter/pseuds/LuxRoyalty
Summary: A mark somewhere on your body, usually a wrist telling you your soulmate on your sixteenth birthday. This is usually a good thing, or maybe just an okay one. Cor wondered why he thought he might be that lucky.(Betrayal - then pain. Then the lost of all hope.But sometimes hope comes to you.)





	1. Prologue

It was done - he was in the Crownsguard. He’s signed the papers, done everything they’d asked him to. Nothing could stop him now.

Nothing unless one of them finds out he’s not actually sixteen.

There was no reason for them to check, anyway. He’d given in his ‘birth certificate’. While soulmarks were commonly on the wrist not all of them were - it wasn’t an obvious indicator that he was under sixteen if he didn’t have one right there. If anyone ever thought to ask, he would say it's somewhere hidden. But no one would ask.

Cor stares down at his recruit ID card and runs the tip of his finger along the edge of it. He really made it. They let him in. All the waiting and pacing, and he’s in.

He puts the thought of his soulmark out of his mind. It would be _years_ before it was important, anyway. He squeezes the ID tighter, and pulls the bag straps over his shoulder a little more, and walks into the building. He raises his chin a little higher and doesn’t smile.

It might have been childish, but he couldn't wait.

* * *

 

About eight months later they send off his name to the Citadel after the battle at Keycatrich. They thought he did well, distracting the Nifs while someone else dragged his CO behind cover. They liked how he sets the bombs and listens to orders, and then still help when no one could get the orders to them. They praise him, and he gets a medal, of all things.

(Cor carefully doesn’t think of his squad. Not all of them came back.)

And then the Citadel’s response comes back and orders comes through - faster than expected, even - he was going to be transferred to the Citadel, _immediately._ They want him because he’s good at his, and he should be even better with more training, better training. Everyone knows the Citadel guards get the best because they have time the recruits out here can’t afford to have.

Cor goes. He wants to be on the front lines, _that’s what he signed up to do_ , but he goes. He looks his new CO in the eye and salutes like he’s meant to.

He doesn’t like the way they look at him there. His CO is a bit weird, he thinks, but the _Marshal?_ They seem to know something he doesn’t. He doesn’t like how he has to be checked out by a doctor on his second day, and he _really_ doesn’t like how they sit him down and tell him they know he isn’t actually sixteen.That he shouldn't even be a Crownsguard because he’s ‘too young’. That his own teeth and DNA have given him away like this. Cor wonders if they already knew he was under sixteen, and that’s why they made him move here.

But they don’t kick him out, so there’s that.

And he learns how to fight differently, better, so there’s that too.

* * *

 

He does his job and he’s good at it.

He listens to orders and guards doorways and archways. He checks people’s IDs and sometimes even kicks out people if someone orders him too. He learns. He learns that he’s better with longer swords. That he’s fast, and can strike quickly. He’s given a greatsword - a katana, he’s been told it’s called. It’s already been named - it’s the ‘Genji blade’, and he goes to the Citadel library to find out what that even means.

Spars become easier. He usually won them anyway, but now he wins faster. They make him fight stronger Guards, and then he wins spars with them too. He fights experienced guards, and they promote him. The Marshal is pleased.

He still doesn’t expect to be the one guard, other than the Prince’s retainers, to be invited on the Prince’s trip.

* * *

 

The road trip is the best time of his life, he’s sure.

There’s Cid, who’s a dick, but is - nice. He’s grumpy and sour but helps him if he needs anything and looks out for him. There’s Wes, who teaches him how to cook and softly teases him, warm and just there. There’s Clarus, who’s always up for a spar, and can _annoyingly_ pick him up with one arm. He teaches Cor all the best sword tricks.

And then there’s Prince Regis. _Regis - ‘_ don’t call me Prince unless you have to’. He’s nicer than Cor ever expected, a warm smile almost always on his lips. But he _is_ as deadly Cor had thought he would be. Warping through the air and laughing as he slices a behemoth down.

They’re all friends, he knows. And they’re all better than him, older than his meagre fifteen years, and they treat him like a kid.

So he fucks up and challenges the Blademaster.

He loses of course, and they’re all _furious_ with him.

But they’re still - it takes him too long to figure out it was because they were scared that he might die. He didn’t, but they still worried, about him and his injuries.

It’s… nice. It’s really nice.

Like what Cid said, they’re _brothers._

He loves them, he thinks.

* * *

 

Of course things wouldn’t stay the same. Why would they?

They lose a battle. Wes gets hurt. They - the doctors - say he can’t fight as much as he used to do, and by the time everything’s been sorted out he’s decided he likes Altissia enough to stay. So he stays. He tells them to call often and gives them his number again, like they’d lose it. But it’s not the same. They don’t have Wes, all soft and exasperated with them.

Regis’ and Cid’s arguments aren’t as annoying when Wes isn’t there to calm them down. They’re _uncomfortable._ They get nasty. It doesn’t even ease up inside Insomnia. Then, one day Cid says something he can’t hear and Regis goes _white_. That argument is the worst, and then Cid leaves.

It’s just the three of them, then. But then he hits sixteen, and his soulmark appears on his wrist.

It’s a lot more _important_ that he expected.

He - he doesn’t know what to think about it.


	2. Red Flags Flying High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soulmark, and the start of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [enter stage, followed by a hint of angst]  
> This is just the start.
> 
> Also, not beta'd, I'll do that later.

He doesn’t have any shifts on his sixteenth birthday. He sleeps an extra hour, burying his face into the bedsheets, curled up like he always likes to sleep. But he does have to get up eventually, so when he rolls over and checks the time on his phone he sighs - and gets up.

Cor checks his wrist as an afterthought, but the sudden spike of nerves in his throat make him swallow. His wrist is bare of any marks - for now.

He doesn’t know when he was born. He has no time to say, for definite, ‘this is when my soulmark will appear’. And it could anywhere on his body, if he’s unlucky, anyway.

Cor walks on the wooden floor of his bedroom to the cold tiled floor of his little kitchen. The phone in his pyjama pocket moves when he walks and if almost feels like it’s about to fall out. He puts it on a counter and leans to turn the kettle on, untucking it out of its place at the back of the kitchen. He reaches up to take a cup from the cupboard and places it down. He prepares his tea while he waits, but the kettle - always so slow - isn’t done when he finishes, so he picks up his phone.

There are a few emails that aren’t important, a couple of happy birthday texts from his co-workers (How did they find out? It was Clarus, wasn’t it? _Clarus, why.)_ As well as some from his friends. Cor rolls his eyes at them, sends a couple of texts back - and then he sees Regis’ text.

_Happy Birthday! Finally sixteen! It took you a while. Have you seen your soulmark yet?_

Cor looks at his wrist again, twisting it so he sees both the back and the front of it - but nothing. He texts him back.

_Not yet, you know I don’t know when I was born. But thanks._

Finally his tea is ready and he makes a cup, and he picks up an apple from the fruit bowl that’s somehow always stocked even if he doesn’t buy anything for it.

Cor sits on his sofa with his prizes, leaning heavily on a cushion. It’s still early - 7am - even if he did sleep in, and the city isn’t _quiet_ , but it’s quieter than it could be, and it’s nice. He eats his apple and drinks his tea and plays phone games. But he does have to get ready eventually, so when he finishes, he gets up and puts his cup in the sink and heads back to his room.

He sees it when he’s putting his shoes on. Words on his wrist, written so neatly and fancily - and _familiar_.

**Regis Lucis Caelum**

His soulmate is _Regis._ A beat - and it sinks in. Regis. _Regis._ His friend, who he already knows and likes, not a stranger. He could already imagine it - he would first poke Cor about it, laughing and then he would smile, and say something like “I guess you’ll have to stay around forever.”

But - Regis is the Prince.

And that’s when he realises _it_. The world freezes. His ears _ring._ For a moment Cor wants to yell. To snarl or break something like a child, but he just crumples on the floor of his living room, holding his wrist like he’d hurt it.

Regis had gotten his soulmark like everyone else did - sixteen. _He’d known._ The Marshal had known - the King _had known._ It was why they brought him to the Citadel, it was why they invited him on the road trip, _and_ _it was why the King made him his guard._

Cor’s breath came out in a gasp, and he scrambled for his phone, quickly texting Regis if they could talk _please._ He stands, numb, and swallows. His fingernails are digging sharply into his wrist, and he walks to his sofa and just - sags onto it.

He curls forward and stares at his wrist. He wants to talk to Regis - before he does anything. He needs to talk to Regis.

* * *

 

He feels like he’s worn a path in his floor when someone knocks on his door. Cor stops pacing and turns to face it. He scowls and breathes and breathes some more, but he doesn’t make whoever it is wait.

He doesn’t know them.

All of them are wearing Citadel uniform, black and gold. One is the King’s advisor, although he’s never met him. Two more are Crownsguards that he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t even know what the last person’s job is meant to be at all.

The advisor smiles at him, warm and with teeth. “May we come in?” He says.

Cor nods and steps back. A guard closes the door behind them, and it feels like he’s ushered to the sofa, even if nothing obvious is done to make him move there. It’s like he’s surrounded, with them on all sides, a guard between him and the doors - either door. The advisor sits in opposite him, and smiles again.

“I’m Durus Espino,” he says, “I’m sorry for surprising you here like this.”

Cor stares at him, but nods his head.

The man continues without a word said from Cor.

“The Prince hasn’t got your last text, I’m afraid - we need to talk to you first. The King wants you to know the _full -_ scope, shall we say, of you being the Prince’s soulmate. There’s a problem, a big one - have you seen it yet?”

Cor sits up a little straight, and tilts his head to the side. “No,” he says, quietly unsure.

“To be honest, you’re not a suitable soulmate for Prince Regis.” He pulls out notebook from inside of his coat, and flips it open. “But we can make you one.”

Cor leans back; he twists his hands together, and opens his mouth. “What-”

“We would like more time for that, but we don’t have much time.” He interrupts him. “The order that he will have to do things in have been switched - from your last physical has informed us that you can carry healthy children straight away, so rather than etiquette training, we will have to get you ready for a wedding as soon as we can. PR has said it wouldn’t matter if you were early in a pregnancy when you get married, the public would think it would be sweet, actually. So-”

“ _What?”_ Cor interrupts him now, completely lost, wide eyed and confused.

Espino frowns heavily at him, but deigns to explain. “Children.” He says, simply. “There needs to be more Lucis Caelum children born, and Prince Regis having them with you is the better option, publicly, to go about it.”

He slowly shakes his head, unable to take his eyes of the man in front of him, but Espino doesn’t stop.

“That’s about the biggest thing, I think,” he rolls his shoulders and smiles again, but there’s nothing in his eyes, “You’ll have to make lifestyle changes, but you’re smart enough you’ll already know that. So, Cor, now we’ll need to go to the Citadel-”

“No.” Cor says.

“Excuse me?”

“No.” He says again, sharper, and stands.

The guards stand up straighter, and the other person goes to take something out of his pocket. Cor goes very, very still and tense, like a string about to snap. Like a rope under too much weight.

Espino sighs. “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

Cor _moves._

The guards get ready for him, the last person going _for_ him, but he isn’t weak. And he’s _desperate_. He jumps forward and lashes out with a fist, punching a guard hard, and they fall. He moves fast, running like - like there’s a _monster_ behind him, and he bolts down the stairs and-

Into more guards.

He jumps into the gap in the middle of the stairwell, and someone swears. He catches himself on the - he looks at the sign - second floor, and inside of going down, he goes across. He pushes back into the hallway between flats and runs down until he gets to a window.

With a snarl, he flings his Astral-damned _tracked_ phone at it, and flings himself through the gap and into the trees outside. There’s an easy jump and he’s on the ground. He can hear the Crownsguard vans a little while away, one street, maybe two. They aren’t looking for him there, and it’s an easy escape into the streets.

He’s happy he didn’t move as close to the Citadel as he could have. The smaller twisting streets nearby where he lived - _lived, past tense, and that hurt -_ weren’t meant to be safety for him - but that’s what they were now.

There were a lot more Crownsguard waiting around than he expected. They must have arranged it differently - they _knew_ he knew a lot about guard operations, they were trying to catch him out. Fortunately, they hadn’t even figured out he’d gotten out, yet.

One guard, waiting alone on their motorcycle, wasn’t looking out for him. He waits until they are just close enough, then strikes. He drags the unconscious body into the nearby alleyway, and takes their helmet, so no one could see his face.

He drives away, towards the ports - then dumps it. He hotwires someone else’s motorcycle, drives the way he actually wants to go and dumps that. He steals a car the next time.

The Wall Guard knows him. He smiles and waves Cor through.

“Another mission?” He says, “You do too many Leonis. Take a break some time.”

Cor rolls his eyes. “Who would I be if I did that?” The words taste like ash in his mouth.

And then he’s out - and mostly free. As soon as the Wall Guards can’t see him he presses the pedal down hard, more thankful than he’s ever been that he knows how to drive.

And that’s how he gets to Hammerhead and to Cid - in a car he’d stolen, panic pushed down so far he’s almost calm, with a soulmark belonging to the Crown Prince on his arm.


	3. A Forest Full of Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running. _Running._

Cor parks the car as neatly as he can make it, outside of Cid’s garage. He wants to just stop and take a moment to think, but he knows he's still way too close to Insomnia for that.

There's a sinking, hissing feeling in his stomach - if Regis _possibly_ agreed to what those people and the King wanted, would Cid? Would this be a trap? A false safe-house?

The bell hanging in the doorway chimes when he walks in, body held tight, looking around for enemies. Cid’s at the counter, and he looks up to look at Cor.

“Kid?” Cid raises his eyebrows. “Why’re you here? Why’re you looking that that?”

He opens his mouth and shuts it again. “I need to get out of Lucis.”

“Fuck, kid!” Cid loudly says, but he stands. “I don't know if I wanna know what's been happening over there, but okay, what you already got?”

Cor looks down, then up again. “Just me. I stole a car - it's outside.”

Cid squints at him like he's a puzzle, but nods. He walks out, waving at Cor to follow him and he does, ignoring the nerves rattling in his throat.

“I'm no idiot,” Cid says, “but I haven't got a clue what's caused this - take this.” He shoves a bag at Cor.

Cor catches it and swings it onto his shoulder to carry. Cid nods.

“It's an emergency bag, already packed. You just need some water and you're done.” Cid holds out a bottle to him, a look on his face that Cor has never seen before.

Cor takes the water and peers up and him. “I don't-”

“Kid. Breathe. You're smart, you can get out of this.” Cid leans toward and drags him into a tight hug, and ruffles his hair when he lets go. “I've got a motorcycle you can borrow, now get - they'll know you might visit me.”

* * *

 

The ports are closed. There's guards everywhere. They must have known he’d come here first, trying to get a boat off to Accordo. Trying to get out of Lucis one of the fastest ways he could. Get to Wesk, even.

Cor turns his motorcycle around, and doesn't dare to go back to Cid’s.

He gets away from the areas they think he might be in. He can live in the wilderness easily. But how long before he’s caught?

* * *

 

Food was easy. It’s everything else he struggles with, alone on the road.

* * *

 

Cor stands when he hears the sounds of a voretooth pack coming towards him. They’re easy enough to deal with - but he doesn’t want to have to deal with a large pack of them. Not now, with no backup, no healing items.

And no weapon.

He tries to pull his sword out of the armiger when he hears the Voretooth pack coming too close, and grasps at nothing.

They’ve cut him off.

Without thinking too hard, because thinking wasn’t going to help him survive, he rips open his bag and and rummages through it. Cid would have packed a knife, right? Or a Gun?

The knife in the bag is smaller than what he likes, and meant for cutting meat after hunting, but it _was_ a knife.

And it came in handy when he was just a little late getting to safety and a voretooth growled at him from the shadows.

No, not one voretooth- _five_. He runs. He fights when he's not fast enough. Cor doesn't think he's ever been so angry in his life, but it isn't the fighting, it isn't because of the attack. It's because he's here, _alone_ , when they promised him they would stick together. Even if they couldn't be together physically.

_Brothers_ , he thinks with a venom that doesn't suit him. Did the years by himself teach him nothing? Relying on yourself was the best way to survive this world.

He knew he was wrong, Cid could be relied upon if nothing else, but just for this little while, he let himself have this.

Cor gutted and prepared one of the voretooths, and wondered what he would get if caught by Nifl- _Lucis_. Lucis.

* * *

 

He always chooses havens away from people now, everything he needs close to him so he can just up and run if needed. Some of the stuff he can leave - but he doesn’t want to leave them, so he hides.

Everyday he hides and wonders how he’ll react if they send out his friends for him. Or would they send strangers so that he wouldn’t know their fighting style? Would they try to drug him? Knock him out?

He goes to sleep with the familiar sounds of daemons nearby, thankful that they, at least, cannot touch him here.

If only there was a place like that - where the people hunting from him could not touch him. Alone in Lucis for the past couple of months, hunted from one end to the next - Cor knew well that if a place like that existed, it didn’t exist here.


End file.
